


heavy wings grow lighter

by BerryliciousCheerio



Series: pink lemonade [2]
Category: Power Rangers (2017)
Genre: F/F, Mom Friend! Jason, Pre-Relationship, Protective! Kim, ft. Soft! Trini, its cute you'll like it i promise, its uhhhhhhhhhhh Angst Central sorry folks im Sad, yeah i tagged the cheerleaders like theyre a hivemind, zack being super into property destruction when someone makes trini sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-09 07:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11664237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BerryliciousCheerio/pseuds/BerryliciousCheerio
Summary: From: Fighter Pilot BarbieTo: T2:19pmwhere are u, jason’s worriedor: high school can be rough.  sometimes you just need someone to lean on.





	1. your world has no love to give

**Author's Note:**

> so this Was supposed to be my first trimberly fic but prompts happen and also this spiraled out of control, like it was going to be ~5k total but its like nearly 20k and i just........who am i
> 
> anyway its angsty but i promise you a good resolution, i dont like needless suffering you know??
> 
> i also want to emphasize how entirely fucked over i was when the deleted scenes were released like i was 16k deep and suddenly had to revamp the entire damn thing like i love new trimberly stuff as much as anyone but goddamn if i didnt hate lionsgate just a little in that moment
> 
> content warnings as follows: bullying, blood, wounds, wound care, a smidge of violence (nowhere near canon typical levels), homophobia, internalized homophobia, self loathing  
> i think that covers just about everything
> 
> pt 2 aka trini's pov coming on friday!! (what?? i actually wrote the second part before posting the first instead of getting overambitious and fucking myself over in the end????)
> 
> disclaimed

 

 

 

 **From: Troy Bolton  
** **To: Trini ??  
** **1:41pm**  
 _hey do u want to study with me?  I grabbed one of the back tables_  

 **1:57pm  
** _T_  

**2:08pm  
** _are u here today?  if u ditched it would have been polite to invite us u know_

**2:09pm  
** _also do u need a ride to the mine_

**2:14pm  
** _Trini??_

 

**From: Fearless Leader  
** **To: Kimberly Hart  
** **2:16pm**   
_hey have u seen Trini_

**2:16pm  
** _she’s usually in the library during free but I haven’t seen her since before lunch.  she’s not answering her phone either and I need to know if she needs a ride to training_

**From: Kimberly Hart  
** **To: Fearless Leader  
** **2:16pm**  
 _i havent seen her_  

**2:17pm  
** _did she seem ok to u when u saw her?  she’s been really quiet lately_

 

**From: Fearless Leader  
** **To: Kimberly Hart  
** **2:17pm**   
_she’s always quiet_

 

**From: Kimberly Hart  
** **To: Fearless Leader  
** **2:17pm**   
_quieter than normal.  like even with me_

 

**From: Fearless Leader  
To: Kimberly Hart  
** **2:18pm**   
_shit_

 

 **From: Kimberly Hart  
** **To: Fearless Leader  
** **2:18pm**  
 _class lets out in a bit, i’ll skip next and look for her_  

**2:18pm  
** _text u when i find her_

**From: Fighter Pilot Barbie  
** **To: T  
** **2:19pm**  
 _where are u, jason’s worried_  

 **2:20pm  
** _on that matter, im worried_  

**2:20pm  
** _did u skip bc if so bring me donuts_

**2:28pm  
** _u better be lying in a ditch somewhere_

**2:29pm**  
_actually i take that back but im still worried please call me to let me know ur alive or something_

 

The bell rings just as Kimberly locks her phone, and it doesn’t so much as startle her—a feat that’s become increasingly hard to accomplish thanks to _freaky Ranger skills_ (Trini’s term, of course)—as it does spur her to shove her books into a stack and head for the door.  

Someone from the other side of the classroom—Harper, maybe, or Rebecca—laughs, says something ugly that Kimberly no doubt deserves and that she is absolutely meant to hear.  Kimberly’s hands curl into fists, one wrapped tight around the strap of her bag, and, in another life, she probably would turn and throw something just as terrible back.  But there’s this awful, uncomfortable feeling in the very center of her chest that took hold when Jason texted her and that alone is enough to double her self-restraint.

Trini’s locker is on the other side of the main building, towards the gym, but up on the second floor as opposed to Kimberly’s newly assigned one near the front entrance.  Kimberly has to use a fair amount of evasive action to get there, especially once the second bell’s rung and the vice principal is prowling the halls trying to catch kids without hall passes—it’s not as if she’s not already stuck in Saturday detention, but she’d rather not add after school ones to her roster. 

Because of training.  Not because she has a standing donut date with Trini on Tuesdays, before they head to the mine. 

When she rounds the corner of the stairwell, the girl in question is there.  Back to Kimberly, standing on a stack of books and scrubbing at her locker.  She freezes when Kimberly steps into the hall and Kimberly’s heart clenches at the tension held in the narrow line of her shoulders, at the way she seems to fold in on herself, making herself even smaller than she is.  Some of that goes away when Kimberly calls out, “Hey, I’ve been trying to text you,” but not all of it, not enough of it for the unease to slip away from Kimberly’s sternum. 

“Huh,” Trini hums, still not turning around.  That’s red flag number one.  “Haven’t checked my phone in a while.”  Red flag number two, considering that if Trini’s not with the rest of them, she’s all but glued to her phone.  And, Kimberly notes with a little pride and with growing apprehension, even if she’s avoiding other people, she never ignores Kimberly’s texts. 

“Are you okay?”  Kimberly steps further into the hallway, pauses when Trini visibly flinches.  “Hey, T, I’m worried about—.” 

Trini straightens, rolls out her shoulders like she’s squaring up even with her back still to Kimberly.  “I’m fine,” she drawls, like everything isn’t completely _wrong_.  “Shouldn’t you be in class?” 

Narrowing her eyes, Kimberly fires back, “You’ve missed three.”  Her tone is so much sharper than she’d intended, but sometimes to cut through Trini’s bluffing, Kimberly’s found you need a knife. 

“Zack’s missed the entire day.” 

“Zack’s…Zack.”  Kimberly steps closer, crosses the remaining space between them in a couple long strides.  “You usually give me a heads up if you’re planning on skipping.” 

“Can you drop it?  I just forgot, okay?” 

Kimberly doesn’t flinch at Trini’s tone, ignores the way her words sting, lodge in the space between her ribs.  The shorter girl is actually Kimberly’s height with the help of her textbooks underfoot, but she’s still not turning to face her, keeps shifting her weight—it hits her then that Trini’s trying to block her view. 

Trini’s faster than her on a normal day, smaller and lighter on her feet than Kimberly can ever dream of being, even with years of gymnastics and cheer under her belt.  But Trini seems off-kilter now, doesn’t react fast enough to catch her before she can step just to the side to peer over her shoulder. 

“Who—,” Kimberly starts as Trini finally turns and says, “It’s not that bad—,” reaching out with her free hand like she’s going to push Kimberly back. 

Kimberly gets why she’s been avoiding the rest of the rangers now.  Trini’s blotchy, red nosed, and there’s blood smeared along her hairline and her full bottom lip—not that Kimberly’s noticed her lips or anything—is split down the side, purpling and swollen.  When Kimberly steps a little closer, she can see the smudge of a bruise along her cheekbone, the redness around Trini’s eyes, like she’s been rubbing at them too roughly.  She probably has. 

The sight of her makes Kimberly’s blood boil, the sight of _it,_ the word behind Trini, makes her face feel hot—four ugly red letters, taking up the entirety of Trini’s locker door, top left to bottom right.  

“Who the _fuck_ did this?”  

Kimberly tries to keep the fury out of her voice, she truly does, but if Trini paling is any indication, she’s failing miserably.  In her defense, it’s taking every bit of Kimberly’s self-restraint to not reach around the other girl and rip the door off its hinges, crush it in one move, maybe two if she ripped it in half first—a move that she is very seriously considering.  It’d be nearly poetic, maybe, she thinks. 

She doesn’t though.  Not when she notices how Trini’s chin is trembling, how she’s gripping the paper towels she was using to scrub at the word, white knuckled and fingertips ripping through the damp material.   She pauses, softens.  “Trini,” she breathes.  “Did whoever write that do _this_ ,” she gestures to Trini’s face, “to you?” 

“It doesn’t matter.”  Trini’s free hand drops, goes back to press flat against the wall of lockers.  

“Trini.  It matters.”  How could it not?  How could Kimberly ever— _jesus_ , how could she ever not care about this?  

The metal creaks, groans beneath the smaller girl’s hand, the door of the locker kitty corner to hers crumpling under her fingers.  She doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes unfocused and somewhere far away—Trini doesn’t flinch when Kimberly reaches out again, gently pulls her hand away from the lockers.  She doesn’t flinch, but she stiffens at Kimberly’s touch, her eyes darting around the hallway as she shrinks back just the slightest. 

Right.  

Kimberly’s never—she’s been incredibly lucky.  She knows this.  She’s never had the same bone-deep fear that Trini has, never had the same self-doubt.  When Kimberly was fourteen, she googled what it meant to want to kiss your friend, found a word for it and, quite frankly, never thought about it again.  She isn’t out at school necessarily, nor to her parents, but she’s never feared what it would mean if she was, never really had a reason to.  Even now, after her fall, that confidence is still held in some quiet place inside her.  

But when Trini was fourteen, she told a girl she liked her and got laughed at, cut off—there’s more to the story, Kimberly knows, uglier things that Trini’s keeping close to the chest, but the bare bones are enough to put together an altogether heartbreaking picture. 

“Come on,” she murmurs, hand at Trini’s wrist, not quite touching her.  “You need to get cleaned up.” 

“You don’t have to do this.”  Trini’s frowning even as she steps off her textbook stepstool, eyes settled somewhere just past Kimberly’s shoulder.  She crosses her arms—it’s the first moment that Kimberly notices the blood on her collar, dried brown against the yellow of her shirt.  “You don’t have to help me.” 

Kimberly stares at her openly, pressing her lips into a line.  They’ve all—Kimberly knows that Trini is slower to trust than any of them, they all know that.  They’ve adapted, figured out the best ways to make her feel safe, whole, cared for.  But this—after as much care that Trini’s shown for them, for her, she should be able to know.  Be able to trust that they all would do the same for her.  That Kimberly would do the same.

She’s trying not to take this skepticism personally.  This isn’t the time for her feelings—not that she has _feelings_ for Trini, because they’re teammates and Trini’s her best friend and—yeah.  Anyway. 

“You’re right, I don’t have to.  I want to,” Kimberly says firmly, stepping back and raising her hand to the small of Trini’s back but letting it hang in the air just a hair away from touching her.  “You’re my fellow ranger and my best friend and I—.” _And I’m probably in love with you_.  “And I care about you.  Let me help.” 

Trini doesn’t protest after that.  She lets Kimberly half-guide her to the nearest, quietest bathroom—Kimberly’s got a fairly useful ranking system for every bathroom in the school.  Which are the nicest, which are the quietest, which don’t echo if you sob, which are the least likely place any of her old crowd would be.  She steers Trini towards the bathroom near the chemistry labs; someone told the incoming freshmen a couple years back that it was haunted and the rumor stuck, even if no one wanted to admit to believing it. 

“Hop up.”  Kimberly taps the counter space between sinks lightly, turns away to grab a few paper towels and wet them.  When she turns back, Trini’s glaring down at her hands, twisted up in her lap, her legs dangling over the edge of the counter.  “You’re not going to like me very much in a minute,” she tells her, wringing out the paper towels so they’re just damp enough. 

“Doubtful.” 

Kimberly shrugs off a little of the anger that’s still curled in her fingers, flicking off excess water as she flashes Trini a smile.  “Is that a compliment?” 

The corner of Trini’s mouth quirks up, the closest she can come to a smile without pulling at the split in her lip.  “Take it how you want it,” she murmurs after a quiet moment.  Then she lets her eyes close, tips her head back just the slightest. 

Kimberly’s kind of lost for a second—she doesn’t mean to get distracted by Trini’s _insane_ lashes or the smooth edge of her cheekbones or by how soft she looks or by the thought of how her skin would feel beneath Kimberly’s lips and the pads of her fingers.  But then she blinks fast in the harsh fluorescent lights because Trini’s just knocked Kimberly’s shin with the toe of her sneaker and has her head cocked to the side, eyes open again as she studies her. 

“Space case much, princesa?” Trini teases when she catches Kimberly’s eye, her brow lifting.  It must pull at _something_ , because her smirk is dropped in a flash, pain flickering in her eyes before she carefully hides it away again. 

Kimberly frowns.  “Sorry,” she mutters, starting to wipe at the blood on Trini’s chin.  “Just wondering how someone so small could bleed so much.”  

She’s aiming for a joke, but it falls flat—partly, she’s sure, because Trini’s feeling like shit right now, but also partly because all Kimberly really wants right now is to somehow ensure that Trini never, ever feels like shit again.  And she’s—well.  She has no fucking clue what to do with that thought.

Trini doesn’t respond, just lets her eyes close again.  She winces when Kimberly nears her lip so Kimberly works faster, tries to minimize the irritation.  She tackles the blood at Trini’s hairline next, startling when she discovers a gash hiding among her dark roots.  

“Jesus,” she hisses, pausing because she doesn’t trust herself to be gentle in the moment.  “Trini.” 

“Hm?”  The smaller girl blinks up at her slowly. 

“I—,” Kimberly starts, stops.  Exchanges the dirty towel for a clean one before she starts again.  “Who did this?” 

“Kimberly—.” 

“Because I just need to have a chat with them, you know?” 

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, you can, but you don’t.”  Trini glares at her then, but it’s _true_.  Trini takes hits she can dodge if she wanted to, stays quiet when shit like this happens; Trini is fully capable of taking care of herself, Kimberly knows.  But Kimberly also knows that Trini doesn’t think she’s worth the effort.  

Which—maybe that’s what’s making Kimberly so angry?  The idea that the girl in front of her sees some warped version of herself in the mirror, some version that doesn’t deserve basic respect.  Because fuck that, honestly.  This is— 

 _fuck,_ this is the girl that sits up with Jason when he’s having a panic attack and doesn’t want to let anyone know, the girl that spends nights over at Zack’s when the fear of waking up _alone_ overwhelms him, the girl that is the only one out of them that can keep up with Billy when he starts getting into specifics on his newest project.  The girl that, after a handful of days of knowing her, ripped off Kimberly’s defaced locker door and landed herself in detention for it. 

Jesus, Kimberly can hardly breathe from the thought of it, from the idea that Trini doesn’t see what the rest of them see.  That she doesn’t know that they’re all just as worried for her, just as protective of her as she is of them.  

The air between them is thicker than it was before, heavier in a way that Kimberly can’t figure out how to fix, not now, not with Trini looking at her like this, like she’s _tired_ , like she wants to fight but can’t bring herself to.  And Kimberly—she doesn’t want to drop it—knows she can’t, not really.  

But she can bury it for right now. 

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.  “That wasn’t fair of me.” 

Trini turns her glare down to her hands and Kimberly feels the air go out of her lungs when she sees—no, she fucking _feels_ it.  Feels all the hatred that Trini’s turning inward, feels all the guilt and disgust and doubt and anger.  Kimberly’s never been so equally grateful and horrified by the psychic link that holds them all together, that connects them all to the morphing grid.  Because this—this peek into Trini’s head?  It feels like an invasion of privacy, leaves Kimberly twisted up, twisted around because _god_ , all she wants to do is punch every fucking tooth out of the mouth of whoever did this. 

But it’s good to know.  Good to be able to recognize the way ebb and flow of Trini’s self-hatred, good to be able to know how and when to step in.  Like now. 

Kimberly steps closer, cups Trini’s chin in her hand and gently urges her to look up, hold Kimberly’s eyes.  “Hey,” she says.  “What I said was uncalled for.” 

“It’s not.  You’re right.” 

Pursing her lips, Kimberly lets out a little sigh through her nose.  Tries to figure out a neat way to agree with her without feeding into Trini’s cycle.  

“Maybe,” she responds finally, gaze falling to the paper towel in her hand and the little drop of water that is snaking its way down her wrist.  “But you didn’t need to hear it right now.” 

There’s no response from Trini.  When Kimberly looks up, the other girl’s cheeks are wet.

Kimberly can count on one hand the times she’s seen Trini cry—it’s a grand total of four, not including today, and three occurred during times when they all thought they were about to die.  The fourth was when Kimberly had had the dumb fucking idea to watch _The Fox and the Hound_ , but honestly if Trini hadn’t cried, Kimberly would have been convinced she wasn’t human. 

But she’s crying now, in front of Kimberly, and if her appearance was anything to go by, she’d been crying earlier, and Kimberly can’t help but wonder how long this has been going on, how long Trini’s been hiding this from the rest of them.  Is this where she disappears to when she ditches out on math with Jason or history with Zack?  Scrubbing her locker when the halls are empty?  She’d always figured Trini bailed to go and spend time at the quarry or at home, without having to deal with the heavy, burning gaze of her mother, watching every move she made.

“I—,” Trini hiccups, leaning into Kimberly’s touch when she drops the damp towel in favor of brushing the other girl’s hair back out of her eyes.  “I didn’t want anyone to see.”  She sucks in a shuddering breath, forces out the rest of her words slowly, painfully.  “I don’t want it getting back to my parents.” 

That—god, that hurts.  Hurts to hear, hurts to see; Trini looks incredibly small sitting up on this counter, even more so than normal, and her fear is a real, tangible thing that fills the space around them and between them with ease.  

The rush of protectiveness that surges through Kimberly isn’t entirely new, not towards her fellow rangers, but the acuity of it is.  She wants to place herself directly between Trini and anything that makes her this scared.  She wants to wrap herself around the other girl and keep her warm and safe until she stops shaking like this or— _hell_ —maybe even forever and that thought alone _terrifies_ Kimberly. 

She shoves the feeling aside for now—there’s time to unpack that and all that it means later.  Right now, Trini’s still crying, her shoulders hunching as she tries to make herself even smaller, tries to take up even less space and Kimberly’s aching at the sight of it, at Trini—sardonic and kind and stubborn Trini—looking so fucking small. 

“Can I—,” Kimberly starts, unsure of how to phrase her question but knowing it has to be asked.  “Is it okay if I hug you?” 

Trini looks up at her, her dark eyes wet and wide and then she’s leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Kimberly’s waist and _sobbing_ into her neck.  Her fingers twist in the fabric of Kimberly’s shirt, pulling her closer, so Kimberly steps between Trini’s legs and slips her arms over Trini’s shoulders, tucking the smaller girl securely underneath her chin. 

She doesn’t say anything deep, anything meant to do more than soothe because—because what could she say?  There’s nothing to make this all better for her, to take away the deep-seated fear that lives in Trini’s bones, born of nearly two decades of her mother’s vitriol and others’ cruelty.  Kimberly can only hold her and— 

well.  Now that she thinks about it, there is one other thing she can do. 

She fleshes the plan out a bit while Trini cries herself out on Kimberly’s shoulder.  When her sobs give way to sniffles, then a few deep, shaky breaths, Kimberly figures out the right words.  “You deserve so much better than this,” Kimberly tells her, because she feels like it’s something Trini’s not told enough and that’s—it fucking unbelievable, honestly, and it’s a wrong that Kimberly’s setting out to right.  Trini sucks in a breath like she’s about to dispute the statement, so Kimberly doesn’t give her the chance.  “You are a kind, loyal, _loving_ person,” she whispers, “and you shouldn’t ever be made to feel ashamed over who you love.”

Trini manages a gross, mucus-y sort of laugh, her breath hot against the dip just above Kimberly’s collarbone.  “Sorry I cried on you,” she mumbles sheepishly when she pulls away; she doesn’t get far, because Kimberly keeps her arms around her. 

“Trini.” 

“Your shirt’s kind of gross now.  I got snot all over it.” 

She really did.  Kimberly can’t be fucked over it.  “Yeah,” she sighs.  “But it’s worth it.” 

“Kimberly—.” 

“It’s worth it.”  _You’re worth it_ , she wants to say.  _More than_. 

But Trini’s got this look like she might start crying again if Kimberly says something like that and honestly?  Kimberly’s maybe just reassigned _making sure Trini never cries_ to, like, Priority Number One.  

She swallows the words that are threatening to choke her now, says instead, “This one’s going to need a stitch, I think.”  She smooths her thumb over the skin just below the cut behind Trini’s hairline, careful not to apply too much pressure.  “I can probably manage it back at the ship,” she adds, even though she knows that by the time they make it to the ship, the gash will be long healed. 

“I should change your name in my phone from Fighter Pilot Barbie to Paramedic Barbie at this rate.” 

“Jesus,” Kimberly groans.  “Why am I still Fighter Pilot Barbie?” 

Trini flashes her a small, lopsided smile.  It doesn’t reach her eyes, but it brightens her face a little and Kimberly watches with something akin to hope flaring in her chest as Trini’s shoulders relax, loosening under Kimberly’s arm.  “Because you didn’t like my other nicknames for you,” she retorts. 

The air feels lighter now—Kimberly feels like they’ve slipped out of the darkest timeline, or they almost have, even if Trini’s face is still bruised and Kimberly can’t forget the word written on the girl’s locker down the hall.  Trini’s joking and smiling a little and so Kimberly finishes cleaning her up, moving quickly and distracting her with idle chatter about what she’s missed during the day. 

When she’s done, she tucks Trini’s hair behind her ears and steps back to survey her work.  “Well,” she says.  “You still look like Rocky from the final act of _Rocky_ —.” 

“I should be so lucky,” Trini deadpans. 

“— _but_ you’re as patched up as I can get you at school.”  Kimberly drops her hands, one resting on Trini’s knee and the other trailing down Trini’s arm to lace their fingers together.  In the safety of the bathroom, out of sight, Trini doesn’t shy away from her touch, but rather tightens her hold on Kimberly’s hand and nods.  “Do you want water?” Kimberly offers.  “I think there’s a vending machine around the corner.”

“Water’d be good.” 

“I’ll be right back.”  When Trini’s grip steels and her eyes widen, Kimberly tells her, “Lock the door behind me.  No one uses this bathroom, but I’ll knock when I come back, okay?” 

When Trini nods and drops Kimberly’s hand, she—quite frankly, Kimberly doesn’t know what comes over her, but then she’s leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Trini’s forehead; it’s light, barely a brush of her lips over Trini’s skin, but it’s new and Kimberly’s close enough to smell Trini’s shampoo and she can’t— _god_.  She can’t handle this. 

As soon as she’s out in the hall and has heard the deadbolt slide home, Kimberly pulls out her phone.

 

**From: Kimberly Hart  
** **To: Fearless Leader  
** **2:57pm**   
_found her_

**From: Fearless Leader  
** **To: Kimberly Hart  
** **2:57pm**   
_is she okay??_

**From: Kimberly Hart  
** **To: Fearless Leader  
** **2:57pm**   
_not really_

**2:57pm  
** _like she’s safe and alive_

**2:57pm  
** _but someone wrote on her locker and roughed her up and im going to fucking murder them_

**From: Fearless Leader  
** **To: Kimberly Hart  
** **2:58pm**   
_shit can I do anything_

**2:58pm  
** _like does she need anything_

**2:58pm  
** _do you need anything_

**2:58pm  
** _don’t kill anyone Kimberly_

**From: Kimberly Hart  
** **To: Fearless Leader  
** **2:59pm**   
_no fucking promises_

**2:59pm  
** _but i do need u to take her to the mine for me.  i wanna get her locker cleaned before class lets out and shes not up to staying thru the day_

**2:59pm  
** _and can u text zack bc she’ll probably want to head to the train car_

**From: Fearless Leader  
** **To: Kimberly Hart  
** **3:01pm**   
_done and done.  just left class, I’ll be in the parking lot whenever she’s ready_

**3:02pm  
** _and seriously Kimberly, don’t kill anyone_

**From: Kimberly Hart  
** **To: Fearless Leader  
** **3:02pm**   
_[image attached]_

**From: Fearless Leader  
** **To: Kimberly Hart  
** **3:02pm**   
_who the fuck_

**3:02pm  
** _let me know if you need help burying them_

**3:02pm  
** _but seriously who the fuck did that_

**From: Kimberly Hart  
** **To: Fearless Leader  
** **3:02pm**   
_shes not saying and im not abt to push her rn_

Her phone buzzes again, but she doesn’t check it until she’s bought Trini’s drink and started walking back to the bathroom—it’s only Jason again, agreeing with her decision not to push for answers today.  Kimberly knocks three times, a familiar pattern, and slips in when Trini opens the door for her. 

“Jason’s going to take you to the mine,” she tells her after cracking open the bottle.  Kimberly hands it over and adds at Trini’s questioning look, “I’ve got a couple things I need to handle before I can leave, but I’ll be there soon.” 

“What things do you need to _handle_?”  Trini narrows her eyes at Kimberly, peering up at her with one hand planted on her hip.  She sips her water with a slightly raised eyebrow when Kimberly hesitates for a beat too long before answering. 

“I’m supposed to meet with my history teacher after school today,” Kimberly lies easily.  “I just need to check in with her and let her know I can’t make it.” 

If Trini doesn’t believe her, she doesn’t call her on it.  She drops eye contact and starts shrinking the moment they step through the door back into the open hallway.  Kimberly steers Trini away from the stairs by her locker, pulls her towards the elevator by the vending machines instead so she can be sure Trini doesn’t have to see _it_ again. 

Jason’s idling in the parking lot as promised, his truck newly declared road safe even though it still bore the physical evidence of his bull escapade.  He leans over to open the passenger door when he spots them, nodding in greeting. 

“Zack’s going to meet us there,” he tells the girls.  “And I’m picking up Billy from the field.”  Jason shifts his attention to Kimberly, asking significantly, “When do you think you’ll be done here?”

“Before school lets out.”  She squeezes Trini’s hand as she climbs into her seat.  “Probably in twenty?” 

Trini’s withdrawn again, staring blankly ahead even as Jason nods, calls out a goodbye as he pulls away from the curb.  Her eyes flick to Kimberly once as she lets go of Trini’s hand before they’re trained back ahead. 

Kimberly stands at the curb until Jason’s truck disappears out onto the main road and makes the turn that takes them away from town and out towards the quarry. 

It’s still quiet when she heads back into the school; the halls are still empty when she raids a janitor’s closet and collects cleaning supplies. 

**/**

She stinks of bleach and her fingertips are raw by the end of it, but there’s no trace of the slur anymore and that alone is a triumph.  Kimberly entertains the idea of moving Trini’s stuff into her locker briefly, but Trini’s so careful with her boundaries, draws them out so clearly and Kimberly feels like moving her shit without her express permission probably kicks through every line Trini’s drawn and she _refuses_ to do that.

What she does instead only kicks through a few lines, she thinks. 

Really, it’s dumb fucking luck that she quite literally bumps into Amanda and Rebecca—she should have been expecting it, because bad things come in threes and so far, she’s only at two for today.  

“Watch where you’re going, bitch,” Amanda hisses when she and Rebecca stumble back.  

Kimberly fakes it, taking one large step back and pretending to be unsteady on her feet.  She’s just about to duck her head and slip away quietly, to attempt the path of least resistance, but then Rebecca’s taunting, “How’s your girlfriend, Kimmy?” and everything sort of goes out the window because it’s so _obvious_ and Kimberly can’t believe she didn’t realize it before now. 

Kimberly surges forward, hauls them both up by the collars of their shirts and shoves them back against the lockers that line the hallway.  “Fuck with me all you want,” Kimberly snarls.  “I deserve it and I know that.  But leave her out of this.” 

“We were only stating the obvious, Kimmy,” Amanda spits back.  “Letting the rest of the student body know that she’s a d—.” 

The anger that courses through Kimberly isn’t entirely new, but normally she’s alone when she feels it this intensely.  Normally, it’s self-directed.  Kimberly shifts, presses up with her forearm at the base of Amanda’s neck and growls, “Don’t you fucking dare.”  She presses harder, hears the fabric of Rebecca’s shirt tear in the clenched fist of her other hand as she repeats, “Leave her the fuck out of this.  Got it?”

Amanda’s still glaring at Kimberly, but there’s fear in her eyes too, just enough that Kimberly feels she’s done her job.  There’s no doubt in her mind that she deserves whatever Amanda throws at her—there never was and there never will be, honestly, and Kimberly will take anything and everything that the other girl decides to put her through—but her team is off limits.  

 _Trini_ is off limits.

She drops the other girls, stands resolute as they glare and stalk away, throwing insults as they go and threatening to go to the principal—they won’t, Kimberly knows, but it’s a good effort on their part. 

 **/**  

When Kimberly gets to the mine, they’ve already migrated away from Zack’s train car.  She heads to the gorge, throws herself off the cliff face and tries really hard to regret throwing Amanda and Rebecca into the lockers.  Because that’s—that’s fucked up, right?  Not her place? 

The cool water does little to help clear her mind, but what she’s greeted with when she finally wanders onto the ship centers her. 

She checks every one of their favorite spots to hide out in first—Trini’s, the few Kimberly’s shown her, the ones that everyone on the team knows about, all places somewhat shielded from Alpha-5 and their alien wall dad.  The term was something Zack picked early on and that had stuck, much to Zordon’s chagrin and the rest of the rangers’ unending amusement.  

Kimberly finally finds them in the makeshift den, the atrium down in the living quarters that one day Billy had asked if they could build a fort in and they just never took it down afterwards, even going so far as trawling second hand shops to find a battered but incredibly comfortable couch to make the center of their Ranger Roost (again—Zack’s term). 

She nearly doesn’t see Trini, she’s so smothered by their boys.  Kimberly only spots her by the little bright spot of yellow that stands out next to the deep red of Jason’s sweater where he’s got her wrapped up in his arms.  Her legs, she realizes, are thrown over Zack’s lap and he’s got one of her hands covered in his own.  Her sneaker clad feet are tucked up on the couch beside her, Billy’s hand resting on her leg, his thumb circling the jutting bone of Trini’s ankle.  He’s the first to notice Kimberly, looking up and greeting her.  “Hi Kimberly,” he says, his free hand raised and his voice splitting perfectly between worry and relief. 

“Hey Billy,” she responds, stepping closer.  “How’s our girl?” 

“She hasn’t said anything.”  Billy’s thumb doesn’t still on Trini’s ankle, even as he looks between Kimberly and where Kimberly thinks Trini’s face is worriedly.  

She nods, squeezes the couch by Billy’s shoulder and murmurs, “Thanks, B.” 

She comes around to the front of the couch, greets Zack by nudging the back of his head.  From this side, she can see more of Trini—just a little, but enough to realize that the other girl is out cold. 

“She dozed on the drive,” Jason explains quietly.  “Barely made it in here and then was only up long enough to yell _dogpile_ at us before she knocked out.” 

Kimberly bites back a laugh partly because Jason’s got this calm resignation in his voice, like he knows and accepts the fact that he probably won’t be getting up from his seat until Trini’s napped herself out, but also partly due to the fact that Trini voluntarily called a dogpile when normally she rolls her eyes and has to be dragged into it.  

Regardless—Zack nods in agreement with Jason.  “Who do we need to bury?” he asks after a beat.  

For half a second, Kimberly thinks he’s joking, trying to lighten the mood, but then he turns his face just a fraction more towards her and he’s not smiling, not even a little.  Kimberly should probably be worried, but honestly?  She’s just so damned pleased that she’s got at least one accomplice for when she tries to convince Billy to help her blow up Amanda’s car. 

“Who do you think?” Kimberly answers quietly.  They fall silent then; the only sound in the room is their breathing and Trini’s occasional soft snores and each one twists Kimberly’s heart, makes her soften.  “Scoot,” she demands finally, pushing at Zack’s shoulder with gentle insistence.  “I want in on the dogpile.” 

He moves without protest, which surprises her less than it did at the very beginning, when they were all still learning how to handle one another.  Zack’s incredibly caring, Kimberly’s found, particularly when it comes to the tiniest, angstiest ranger and he generally cools it with the jokes when Trini’s well-being is on the table.  He shoves Jason and they shuffle down in tandem, shifting Trini to rest against Kimberly seamlessly when she slips onto the couch to join her friends. 

In her sleep, Trini curls into Kimberly, seeking out her warmth—Kimberly’s not surprised by it anymore; they’ve had enough sleepovers at this point that she’s become well-acquainted with the smaller girl’s tendency to wrap herself around whatever proves softest, warmest, and most accepting of her weight.  It left Kimberly flustered and blushing on far too many mornings, but eventually she noticed how much easier Trini seemed to sleep with human contact and learned to compartmentalize for her sake.  

Right now, though, Trini’s wounds are healing already and she lets out a little sigh as she settles against Kimberly, her face relaxed and her near constant scowl nonexistent for the moment.  Kimberly wraps her arms around Trini, earning another pleased sigh and causing Kimberly to flush in response.  There’s no immediate shit from Zack over it, but when Kimberly looks up, he’s smirking at her like he _knows_ something; lucky for him, Kimberly’s got a lapful of a napping Trini and can’t quite bring herself to give a shit about whatever Zack may or may not know. 

Jason falls asleep next, his head falling back at such an awkward angle Kimberly’s sure he’ll wake with a crick in his neck.  Billy follows him shortly, but not before snagging one of the pillows off the floor and propping Jason’s head up on it. 

For a while, it’s just Zack and Kimberly still awake; Kimberly’s playing with Trini’s hair when Zack asks seriously, “So what do you want to do about them?” 

It’s no mystery who he’s talking about.  Kimberly takes a moment, a breath, before she answers.  “Dunno,” she says honestly.  “I mean, I know _I_ want to take a sledgehammer to Amanda’s BMW, but I’ll just follow her lead on it.”  She dips her chin towards Trini, who’s started snoring lightly, her exhales coming in warms puffs of air against Kimberly’s collarbone.  “However she wants to handle it, you know?” 

Zack levels her with a look that tells Kimberly exactly how much he’s buying her answer, but nods just the same.  After a minute, he says, “Didn’t peg you for property damage, princess.” 

Kimberly chucks the nearest object she can lay a hand on—in this case, Jason’s phone—and grins as Zack easily dodges it.  “Hey,” she warns lightly.  “Only one ranger gets to call me that.” 

“You’re so whipped,” Zack laughs.  He laughs even harder when Kimberly blushes; she knows she deserves that quip, knows she brought it on herself, but it still makes her defensive, just a little.

“Am not.” 

“Are too.” 

“Am—.” 

Trini shifts in Kimberly’s lap, twisting her fingers into the hem of the other girl’s shirt as she grumbles, “You’re both stupid.  Let me sleep.” 

Zack shoots Kimberly a shit eating grin when she immediately snaps her mouth shut, her hands busying themselves with Trini’s hair again.  _Shut up_ , she mouths at him. 

 _Go to sleep_ , he throws back. 

Whatever.  Kimberly’s not whipped just because she does actually settle down, leaning back against the arm of the couch and bringing Trini with her, head on her chest.  

She closes her eyes to avoid Zack’s raised eyebrows.

**//**

“Hey,” Kimberly greets the next day, swinging up and through Trini’s window in the early morning light.  “I have a proposition for you.” 

Trini snorts and throws Kimberly a surprised smile, one that makes her throat tighten, her heart turn with how bright it is.  “Kimberly Hart,” she gasps, “are you _literally_ propositioning me?” 

Rolling her eyes, Kimberly rights herself and straightens.  “I am, I guess,” she says.  “I think you should move into my locker.” 

“Little early for that, hm?” 

Kimberly pretends to not notice the way Trini’s voice cracks; she also pretends not to notice the little flare of warmth, of hope that takes hold in her chest when she considers what the break in the other girl’s voice might mean.  Instead, she nods.  “Maybe,” she agrees, “but how many times have you had days like yesterday?”

For a second, she thinks she’s finally said the wrong thing, finally gotten Trini to shut down, shut her out completely, because Trini’s expression flattens, goes dead in the blink of an eye.  She doesn’t still, though, just ducks Kimberly’s gaze as she keeps shoving things into her bag for detention. 

“Trini,” Kimberly presses, desperate for some sign that she hasn’t just fucked whatever their relationship is to high hell.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says in a tight voice.  “It’s not your problem.”  She reaches for the beanie on the corner of her bed and Kimberly, knowing it’s the only chance to get a real answer, steps between to block her.  

Trini looks up finally.  Her eyes are still a little puffy, still a little red; with ranger healing, her bruises and cuts have faded and her eyes should be back to normal by now, which only confirms what Kimberly worried about through the night—that after they all went home last night (or, more aptly: after Alpha-5 and Zordon forced them all to go home), Trini spent the night crying. 

“Just drop it, okay?”  

Trini’s voice breaks a little on the request and she’s watching Kimberly with narrowed eyes, like she doesn’t half-trust her to be in her space right now and that sort of breaks Kimberly into a million pieces.  That Trini still expects that her lot in life is to suffer alone, to deny any care before it can be denied to her has Kimberly wanting to hurt any and every person that has ever hurt the girl in front of her; she wants to track them down and demand why they would hurt a person so kind, so intensely caring. 

Kimberly won’t drop it— _can’t_ drop it, because Trini has always deserved more than this and to think that she doesn’t know that is almost too much for Kimberly to handle.  She softens a little more, reaches back to grab the beanie and hand it over to Trini before she perches on the edge of the other girl’s bed.  “Hey,” she says softly as Trini shoves the beanie over her hair.  “I’m sorry I upset you, I didn’t—I should have phrased that better.”

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass,” Trini snaps.  “I’m not going to break.”  And at least—at least this is familiar?  Kimberly’s used to this, used to Trini trying to provoke a response that she feels better suited to handle—annoyance or anger or teasing, anything other than heartfelt care.

“I know,” Kimberly says simply.  She lets the statement rest between them for a moment.  Then, she begins again.  “But I also know that you shouldn’t have to deal with this at all, Trini,” she sighs, “and you really shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.  I just want to be here for you.”

Trini’s scowl had been softening a little with each passing moment, and, with Kimberly’s last declaration, it disappears entirely, replaced with a carefully constructed neutral expression instead.  “You’re really willing to risk shit like this happening at your locker again?” Trini asks flatly, as if expecting Kimberly to rethink her offer suddenly. 

It’s as good as an agreement though, and Kimberly nods quickly.  “Of course,” she hums.  “I thought I made it pretty clear that you’re more than worth it.”

The statement slips out without her meaning it to, but then it’s there, settling between them and for a split second, Kimberly’s sure Trini’s about to cry again—her eyes start shining and her jaw tightens and guilt sits heavy in Kimberly’s chest.  But then her expression clears, her mouth twisting into a smirk that seems to brighten the whole damn room even as her eyes still shine. 

“Sap,” Trini accuses lightly.  “But yeah, whatever, if you’re so desperate to deal with me twenty-four seven, I’ll move into your locker.”  She moves to shoulder past Kimberly, head for the window and Kimberly can’t explain this either, can’t reason why her hand whips out to grab Trini around her wrist and pull her back, into a hug.  

“Sorry,” Kimberly mutters into Trini’s hair. 

She can practically feel Trini roll her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away; in fact, she leans into Kimberly a little more, brings her arms around her waist.  “If you ever tell anyone about this,” Trini grumbles into Kimberly’s neck, “I’m going to throw you into a wall or something.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“No, I won’t.”  The shorter girl lets out a little sigh then, her breath warm against Kimberly’s collarbone.  “But seriously.  Zack’s gonna give me shit if he knows I went down without a fight.” 

“You know he won’t,” Kimberly hums.  “Not about this anyway.” 

Trini huffs out something that sounds an awful lot like an agreement and pulls away slowly, like it pains her.  “You’re sparring with him today if he does, though,” she tells her. 

“I thought we could spar together,” Kimberly says quietly, biting back a smile at the way Trini’s cheeks redden.

“You—uh,” she stammers.  “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to get hurt and you know you’ll pull your punches.” 

“Not at all.  I’m gonna kick your ass, like always.”

Trini narrows her eyes, her mouth twisting up into a smirk even as her blush deepens.  “You’re so full of shit,” she says, the tips of her ears turning red.  “And we’re going to be late if you keep making me all sappy and whatever.” 

“When have you ever been on time to detention?” 

“Well, princesa,” Trini drawls.  “I’m there temporarily, so my tardiness doesn’t really matter, but I’m guessing you’re also here to insist on driving me?  And your tardiness _does_ matter.  Therefore, we’re going to be on time today.” 

“You’re so bossy,” Kimberly whines, pulling a face and biting back laughter as Trini shoves her towards the window.  There’s some grumbling behind her as Kimberly launches herself out the window, catching herself on the sill and twisting to grin at the other girl.  Trini’s still red-faced and Kimberly can’t help but add with a wink, “I think I like it.”

She drops her hold on Trini’s windowsill and falls to the ground with grace, landing lightly on the still dew covered grass, but not before she hears a strangled squeak of a response above her.

 

 

 


	2. show me your love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Trini didn’t account for, of course, was the fact that now she had friends and that said friends actually gave a shit about her wellbeing.
> 
> or: trini keeps a lot bottled up. like, a Lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here it is kiddos, trini's take. this was like. such a journey and maybe i worked through some of my own shit by accidentally projecting waaaaay too much but ya know whatever
> 
> it was also such a joy to write and i hope you will love it as much as i do!
> 
> you know the deal pals, content warnings as follows: blood, violence (not near canon typical levels), wounds, wound care, bullying, homophobia, internalized homophobia, self loathing, hints of emotional abuse, allusions to suicide/suicidal ideation (thats a bit more tangential, but i wanna make sure all my bases are covered!), d-slur, q-slur, anxiety, disassociation
> 
> disclaimed

 

 

 

Trini keeps a lot of shit under lock and key, you know?  And she’s—she knows it’s not super healthy or whatever, she really does, but it’s easier than confronting a lot of things and sometimes easier is the best option, at least in her house or in Angel Grove or in her life in general.  Which is sort of why she’s refused to tell any of her friends about _The Thing_. 

Or _The Things_ , technically.  It’s sort of an ongoing problem. 

Which—okay, she’s being cryptic as hell and she knows it.  The truth is this: she’s getting bullied, like, a lot.  It started pretty soon after her family rolled into town and Trini suffered through her first day at Angel Grove High; she was the only new kid in the last four or so years it seemed, and was therefore the biggest target available to the wildly deprived assholes that inhabited the town. 

It started with little things, like her gym locker getting trashed and her uniform ending up in the pool.  Then it moved up to things like getting tripped in the halls or blocked on the stairs so that she had to sprint to class or risk another tardy mark that would _for sure_ get reported back to her parents.  And then, finally, it moved onto her locker getting defaced and her occasionally getting cornered by the cheerleaders and pushed around.  On very bad days, these particular two events overlapped and truly fucked Trini’s life over. 

The bullying took a little break right after the universe decided to stick her with weird superhero powers; she rode the wave of curiosity that followed the unlikely formation of an entirely unprecedented new social group for as long as it lasted, but she knew that ultimately it wouldn’t stop everything in its tracks.  At some point, Angel Grove would get over the fact that Jason Scott and Kimberly Hart were now friends after years of decidedly _not_ being and were now hanging out with the likes of Billy Cranston, Zack Taylor AKA the Kid That Barely Shows Up, and The New Girl That No One Bothered to Actually Know the Name Of; when they did, it would be business as usual. 

What Trini didn’t account for, of course, was the fact that now she had _friends_ and that said friends actually gave a shit about her wellbeing and that hiding shit like constant bullying was really hard when people cared about you. 

She got pretty good at it though, figured out new ways of hiding shit in the months that followed Rita and her golden boy.  Along with figuring out how to explain the new scars on her neck to her parents, Trini also learned the best times to get away from the rest of the rangers to do damage control on her locker or fish her decoy gym uniform out of the gutter or reorganize her papers after they’d been knocked out of her hands during passing period. 

She’d _thought_ she was doing a good job of it too—that is, she thought so until Jason asked her to hang back after training a few weeks ago. 

He’d been gently concerned about her at-times suspicious behavior, but he didn’t press too hard or ask too many questions, and, bless him, he mostly accepted Trini’s excuses at face value; they’d had a few months on the team together, but they were hardly close enough for him to really be able to question her answers.  

Something out in the great wide universe must have been looking out for Trini, because she knows that if it had been Kimberly that had noticed her odd disappearances, the conversation would have gone wildly different. 

As it stood though, it still spooked Trini, pushed her to pull back a little, drink more and talk less at their weekly campfire nights.  Jason didn’t bring it up again, not to her at least, and she was fairly confident that he wasn’t the type to gossip.  They kept on as usual, though Trini started to put in more of an effort to hide the evidence of _The Things_ from her fellow rangers. 

Quite frankly, she’s not sure why she wanted to hide it at all.  Well—in the beginning, at least, she knew and her reasons made sense.  She hardly knew them, they didn’t even know her last name, and just because you almost died with four other kids from school doesn’t mean that they’re suddenly your best friends (even if that’s—well.  Even if that’s sort of what they are to her, now).  The bullying thing was something she didn’t want getting out necessarily, particularly not in those early weeks when she was still trying to get a read on everyone. 

And then—?  Well, the moment sort of passed.  Then they were all too far into the team and their friendships and their ranger dynamics for Trini to just casually mention at the next campfire _oh, yeah, by the way, I’ve been getting tormented for a year, no biggie._  

Okay.  Well.  That’s sort of bullshit, too.  

She knows why she’s hiding it, holds it deep, holds it in her bones.  Trini’s—she’s never really had friends?  Or—maybe at one point she had, but she’s buried so much of her past so deep, it’s honestly a struggle to remember what was real and what was a daydream she built up around herself, to fill in the gaps.  

Regardless, she’s never really had close friends to entrust with this sort of secret, the launch codes, the weird painful parts of her life that kind of remind her of an old bruise, where the pain isn’t as sharp as it once was, but it’s still there, a dull ache that echoes, lingers, and pisses Trini off beyond reason.  It’s just some stupid kids right?  Doing stupid kid things?  She shouldn’t be upset over it. 

And for the most part, she’s not.  She takes the _freak_ s and the _bitch_ es and she takes the soggy gym clothes and taunts to die in stride; it’s truly not the worst that’s ever been said to her, probably wouldn’t even crack the Top Ten Worst Moments of Trini Gomez’s Life, which is also kind of why she hasn’t bothered to mention it to her friends, but then—well. 

Then it seems as though suddenly the fact that she’s a giant mess of a lesbian—maybe?  Maybe lesbian?  She’s still—ugh.  She’s still riddling that one out, too, trying to find the right word.  But apparently, her glaring homosexuality could no longer go unchecked by the cheerleaders, who then made it a big Thing in the locker rooms, always huddling off to the side and glaring at her with eyes narrowed in over exaggerated suspicion as they whispered about how _gross_ it was that the school let a _lesbian_ change in the girls’ locker room. 

Trini could deal.  She started hanging back, hiding out in a bathroom stall until she’d heard the last of the asshole girls leave and then rushed to shower and change and sprint to class before the second bell rang. 

Then it was their refusal to be partnered with her in any shared class when the teacher assigned partners.  Some part of her admired how in sync all the girls were, how Rebecca in geometry knew that Kacey in French, two periods before, had demanded a new partner for oral exercises on the basis of “knowing exactly where her mouth has been.” 

She could deal with that too.  She even dealt with it the first several times some of them had roughed her up, tripped her so that she landed on her face in the hall or shoved her into the lockers towards the back of the school, late enough so that there weren’t witnesses that cared to step in on her behalf. 

She even took the first slur with her head held high.  

Subsequent ones, though—they brought her a little lower, every time.

Some of that was because she heard the same or eerily similar things at home, out of her mother’s mouth as she argued with Anderson Cooper on the news or repeated—and then agreed—with what Jeanine-from-church said about The Gays and Their Agenda. 

And the other girls could tell, Trini thinks, could sense that they’d finally found what they could use to make her break.  They pressed a little harder each time, found wildly creative ways to use the same words in some new, awful manner, faked sympathy and then twisted their symbolic knives a little harder when Trini started flinching when they appeared. 

She withdrew even more, though this time it wasn’t a conscious decision as much as a knee-jerk instinct.  Some part of her still looked at former golden boy Jason Scott and disgraced queen bee Kimberly Hart and screamed _danger_.  

Kimberly definitely noticed, her smile dimming a little each time Trini shrugged off her hand on her shoulder or sidestepped what would have been a hug and— _jesus_ , that was a torment in itself, being so incredibly weak for this girl and knowing that she’s the reason for—for her smiles lessening and her hugs decreasing, for the way Kimberly started to draw into herself too, a mirror to Trini’s own self-imposed isolation.  It was _awful_ and it only made it worse, really, made it easier for Trini to convince herself that Kimberly must know about her stupid crush, must know it’s better to let Trini down easy now, let her pull away and break her own heart. 

It’s stupid, how deep she is for Kimberly Hart.  How much time she spends thinking about how soft her hands are or how her hair might feel twisted around Trini’s fingers or how Trini’s name might sound falling off those lips, half a sigh after they’ve kissed.  How much forethought she has to put into each and every interaction that they have, just in the hopes of trying to keep a lid on this.

It’s stupid and Trini’s stupid for letting it get so far, be so obvious.  

At least, that’s what Amanda tells her. 

“You really think Kimmy’s got a soft spot for a little dyke like you?” the taller girl says, saccharine sweet.  “You think she won’t hurt you the way she hurt me?” 

Trini stays silent, glowers at the semi-circle of cheerleaders that have slowly but surely backed her up against the wall.  All she can taste is copper, iron, and there’s blood in her teeth because her lip split when Amanda shoved her face first into the lockers.  Her head is throbbing and this is all because she fucking—all because she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut when she got to school a little early and caught the cheerleaders writing dyke on her locker.  All because she had the nerve to hiss, “For fuck’s sake,” and not quite enough self-preservation to run the moment Amanda turned around.

“I’m looking for an answer, bitch,” Amanda grins.  “Do you think you’re safe from how Kimmy treats her _friends_?”  And the way the girl leans on the last word, lets the weight of the sentence rest there, it has the hairs at the back of Trini’s neck on end, has her glancing towards the stairs, towards the window, towards any and all exits, anything to get _away_ —

“Aw,” Rebecca coos.  “I don’t think she wants to be Kimmy’s friend.  I think the she wants to be her _girlfriend_.” 

Amanda scoffs.  “Predictable,” she says, narrowing her eyes.  “You’re, like, straight out of a shitty YA novel, the tragic queer.  What?  You going to cry or something?” 

That’s when Trini notices how blurry her vision’s getting—although, to be fair, some of that is probably due to the fact she feels like she’s not breathing. 

“Fucking cry then.  Start getting used to it.”  Amanda shoves her again and Trini’s head snaps back, probably cracks the wall, but no one’s paying attention to that because Amanda’s getting into her space, sneering down at her.  “Kimmy’s a bitch, but she’s a bitch with standards,” she spits.  “And you, DeDe?” 

She pauses then, steps back and looks to her left, to a smirking Rebecca, then to her right, to another cheerleader Trini recognizes from when Kimberly was still friends with them, still existed only in theory, in passing, a concept and not a real, living person that Trini knows wakes up from nightmares in a cold sweat, that she knows dances around her room in her underwear, singing into a blow-dryer just to make Trini smile.  She knows that Kimberly hates flying when it’s not with her zord and is a lot lonelier than she’ll admit, that she misses her parents and wishes they’d maybe spend more time at home—she knows all that, all these little things about Kimberly that she desperately tries to ignore, but has carefully noted, sorted, and filed away for reflection. 

Trini regrets falling for Kimberly a lot, but never so much as she does now, picturing Kimberly’s face that first day with the rangers, remembering how she’d not even known who Trini was, remembering the times they’d passed each other in the hall or sat next to each other in class and she hadn’t even looked at Trini, remembering how small she felt—feels as Amanda continues.  

“You’re _nothing_ ,” Amanda tells her plainly, primly.  “You’ll always be nothing, _especially_ to Kimberly.”  She steps forward again, raises her hand.  Trini expects a slap or to get pulled to the ground by her hair, but then Amanda’s hand is gently patting her cheek, condescending as she adds, “I’m just looking out for you.  Because if I were you, in this situation?  I’d probably just off myself.”

Rebecca and Harper are the first to laugh, the other cheerleaders joining quickly.  Trini drops her eyes to the floor, to their feet, keeps them there until the matching pristine white tennis shoes retreat, turn and saunter away.  She waits until she hears their laughter disappear down the hall, the stairs, out the back doors towards the field for early practice because it’s a home game tonight and—and _god_ , she remembers this because from her first fucking day at Angel Grove High, she had a dumb fucking crush on Kimberly Hart and tried so fucking hard to ignore her, which, of course, only resulted in her paying way more attention to her than she ever wanted to.  

Aching and furious—with the world, the cheerleaders, Kimberly a little, but mostly with herself—Trini pushes up off the wall and crosses the space between her and her locker. 

The word is there still, and Trini’s _this_ close to laughing at herself for hoping that maybe this has all been one awful nightmare.  But the letters are bright and red and she hears them as they’re intended to be heard, in Amanda’s voice, her mother’s voice, in Sarah from Reno’s voice.  All accusatory.  All _right_. 

She’s stupid to have let any of this go so far.  She’s stupid and sick and wrong and _nothing_ —she’s nothing, not enough, never enough.  

Trini’s not sure how long she’s been standing in front of her defaced locker, but her face is wet when she comes to, remembers where she is.  Her face is wet and her chest is aching and that’s when she notices that she’s heaving, sobbing, an awful, silent, full body kind of sob and she’s never been so incredibly grateful for her hard-won ability to cry quietly. 

Class lets out soon for lunch, she knows that much, so she opens her locker, slips out anything that’s worth anything to her and leaves the door ajar, like she’d told Kimberly to do when it was her, when Trini had no idea how fast she’d fallen, when she took one look at the other’s girl face, her haughty expression plastered over real pain and she’d known so immediately that she was going to do something very stupid to get that look to go away.  

And now—a few missing textbooks are worth it now, she thinks, if it means that other people won’t know about this, not right away at least.  

Trini takes the fire exit stairs to the roof, let’s herself break and wail through the duration of the lunch bell, when she’s certain that no one will be able to hear her, superhearing or no.  Lunch passes slowly while Trini sobs out a year’s worth of breakdowns, all bottled up and buried for so long. 

How clichéd is she?  Breaking down the minute some mean girls figure out her one actual insecurity— _pathetic_. 

From the roof, she can spot Jason heading back into the building from the parking lot, his arms full of fast food bags that he no doubt skipped fourth to go buy to surprise the rangers.  Trini wonders if he’d have remembered that she liked strawberry shakes, not chocolate.  He probably did and the thought of that has her crying again, shaking at the thought that _anyone_ would pay that much attention, would bother to note such a minor thing. 

She gets a few texts over the course of lunch, a couple from Jason, Kimberly, even Billy, asking if she’s going to be at lunch today.  She’s been skipping the last week of lunches, opting for the quiet that the back of the library offered over the company—and scrutiny—of her friends; when she doesn’t respond to their texts, they don’t seem too worried.  Kimberly sends another, separate from the group chat, asking if she wants to come over after training today and Trini ignores that one too, tamps down the weird somersaults her stomach starts doing in response. 

She stays on the roof until lunch ends, heralded by the bell, and she stays until passing period ends and even a little after that, until she’s relatively sure that no one will be in the halls when she slips back inside the building.  There’s no real way to explain the shame that burns so hot in the center of her chest, no words, just the memory of her mother, glaring at the TV and changing the channel when the local news covered LA Pride last summer, asking whatever happened to family friendly programming. 

There’s a janitor’s closet down the hall from Trini’s locker; she breaks the lock without meaning to when she jiggles the handle of the door, steps inside and lets it swing closed behind her, lets the stench of bleach overwhelm her for a moment while she tries to get a handle on her shaking hands. 

Her phone goes off a few more times while she stands there, back pressed to the door, and she forces herself to check it, to remember that she’s a ranger now and sometimes that means the world ends, even if you’re in the middle of a goddamn breakdown. 

It’s only Jason, asking if she wants to study with him.  Another comes in shortly after, asking if she’s even here, and Trini can’t figure out how to answer without starting to cry again, so she shoves her phone back into her pocket, grabs some paper towels and cleaning fluid and heads back into the hall. 

None of her textbooks are missing, so she takes them out to build a little step for herself, to bring herself up to eye level with her fucking ridiculously high locker.  The door creaks ominously when Trini swings it closed, and her fingers leave a little dent in the bottom edge of the metal—not enough to warp it so it can’t close, but enough that it sticks a little when it meets the lip of her locker.

And then she’s facing it, again. 

To her credit, Trini manages to not start crying again, but she does freeze a little, lose touch with reality just a bit, the hallway going out of focus around her and her heartbeat echoing in her ears.  She can’t— 

 _shit_ , she doesn’t want to imagine her mother’s face if she were to see this, but she does anyway, sees the way her mouth would set and jaw would clench and the way her expression would twist.  How she’d get so angry on Trini’s behalf, but not for the right reason, not because she cares that these girls used a slur against her, not because it hurts in this awful, burning way, not because Trini feels like she can’t breathe when she looks at it—she’d be angry because she’d think it was wrong, because she’d be offended anyone would look at her precious daughter and see a _dyke_. 

 _Shit_ , Trini can’t breathe.  She can’t—she can’t do this, can’t handle this today.  She’d rather be in the pit, rather be thrown around by putties or kicked in the face by Zack, rather be anywhere but here, in this hallway.  Some part of her thinks that it would be so much easier to just rip the damn door off, destroy the evidence like she did with Kimberly’s, but that might even be worse, make it obvious that _something_ had gone down and—and honestly, she knows that Kimberly will know what’s happened if she comes to find Trini at her locker and finds a gaping hole in the wall instead. 

So—cleaning.  That’s her solution.

She’s been at it for god knows how long when her coin starts to warm in her pocket.  Trini’s mind is hazy enough that she can’t quite remember if that’s a warning for danger or a notice that another ranger is near—she hopes it’s the former, honestly, would take a fight over trying to answer to their gentle concern, their worry.

That thought doesn’t stop the immediate sense of relief, of safety that washes over her when it’s Kimberly’s voice that rings out. 

“Hey,” she calls from the other end of the hall.  “I’ve been trying to text you.” 

Is it too much to hope that she’ll just go away?  That she’ll notice Trini’s body language and remember that she’s not worth the effort, walk away before Trini loses what little dignity she still has by having to turn around and drop the lie that everything is fine, that she’s fine, that she’s worth Kimberly’s concern and care.  That she’s worth anything. 

“Huh,” she says in response, but her voice sounds like she’s underwater, at least to her own ears.  And then—there it is, the switch, the hand off.  Trini goes on autopilot, offers a weak excuse about not checking her phone and then— _god_.  

Then Kimberly is closing the distance between them, stepping closer and closer and she asks, “Are you okay?” and her voice is so quiet, her concern so apparent.  Trini shrinks under it.  “Hey, T,” she says, so much closer, just a few feet between them.  “I’m worried about—.” 

Trini snaps.  

“I’m fine,” she cuts Kimberly off, because she thinks she’d probably start crying if she didn’t.  Subtly shifting her weight and straightening to her full height in an attempt to block her locker from view, Trini adds flatly, “Shouldn’t you be in class?” 

“You’ve missed three.” 

She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to ignore the lump in her throat.  She’s _nothing_ , not important, and there’s no way Kimberly actually cares so much as to notice her absence.  “Zack’s missed the entire day,” Trini deflects. 

“Zack’s Zack,” Kimberly throws back, her voice coming from just behind Trini now, just over her shoulder.  Trini’s heart pounds and she clenches her fist around the towel in her hand.  She can deal, she can manage this—she just needs to keep Kimberly away from her locker a little longer.  “—if you’re planning on skipping.” 

Had she been talking this entire time?  _Shit_.  “Can you drop it?” Trini snaps abruptly, the only thing she can think to say.  “I just forgot, okay?”  

She shifts again, uncomfortable in the silence that follows, tries to move slowly, subtly to fully block the red ink; if it were anyone but a ranger, she thinks she’d have succeeded. 

But it is a ranger that she’s trying to block, and it’s _Kimberly_ , and the world has this shitty way of seeming to slow down around the other girl and Trini feels like she’s moving through molasses when she feels Kimberly shifting behind her, when she turns without a plan, her only thought being that she needs to keep Kimberly from seeing the door, the word. 

By the time she’s fully facing her, it’s obvious the Kimberly’s seen it.  Her brows are furrowed, eyes narrowed, and she’s already halfway through asking, “Who—?” when Trini’s mind catches up. 

“It’s not that bad,” she promises, pleads, reaching up to—to what?  Shove Kimberly away?  Trini doesn’t trust herself or her strength enough, worries that she’ll send her into the lockers, hurt her somehow and that’s—she can’t stomach that.  Not ever, but definitely not today.  Her hand hangs in the air pathetically, fingers curling into a loose fist in an attempt to redistribute the nervous energy buzzing in them. 

When she looks up, she realizes her mistake. 

Kimberly looks downright murderous, her jaw clenched and her face twisted into a vicious scowl.  Her eyes, so much darker than Trini thinks she’s ever seen them, jump around her face, from her split lip to her forehead to what feels like a bruise that’s forming on her cheek. 

It’s silent for a long moment.  Trini tries to prepare herself for how it’ll break, but she still flinches a little when Kimberly hisses, “Who the _fuck_ did this?” 

The effect is immediate.  Kimberly’s eyes widen and her entire face softens and Trini can hardly look at her, can hardly face the pity in her gaze when she says, “Trini,” so softly and raises her hand so slowly to gesture to her face and ask, “Did whoever write that do _this_ to you?” 

She’s about to cry—jesus, she’s going to cry again.  “It doesn’t matter,” she manages, finally letting her hands drop to press back against the lower lockers.  _It doesn’t matter.  I don’t matter.  I’m nothing.  I’m nothing._

“Trini,” Kimberly whispers.  “It matters.” 

And _fuck_ , fuck that, this has to be a nightmare?  This can’t be real.  Trini doesn’t deserve this, this softness, this care.  Something sounds like metal warping, but her gaze is focused entirely on Kimberly’s hands, reaching towards her and Trini can’t—she can’t really help it?  She presses minutely closer to the lockers, pulls away just a little and hates herself for it, for the way she looks down the hall just to check that they’re alone, for being so scared, for being the cause of the little flash of hurt that dances across Kimberly’s face.  _God_ , she’s pathetic. 

She stares straight ahead, past Kimberly, holds her gaze there while she tries to get a hold of herself, her fear.  Kimberly must think she’s a coward and—honestly?  Trini feels like one.  Maybe she should have stepped up to Amanda.  Maybe she should just come out to her parents.  Maybe she should have just fucking swallowed her secret back when she was a kid and thought her best friend was cuter than any of the boys she went to school with.

But then Kimberly’s moving her hand to Trini’s wrist, hovering there but not holding, and she’s urging quietly, “Come on.  You need to get cleaned up.” 

Trini’s moving before she can register it, stepping down off her textbooks, and she says, “You don’t have to do this,” before she can think of the many reasons not to.  Everything is happening all at once and not at all, but then the words are out and Trini’s tongue is lead, heavy from lies, so she adds the only thing she can.  “You don’t have to help me.”

It comes out as more of a challenge than she meant it to, and she sees Kimberly out of the corner of her eye, half a step from gaping at her.  She covers quickly, quick enough that even through the layers of numb resignation, Trini’s a little impressed. 

“You’re right,” Kimberly says, breaking Trini’s heart a little more.  “I don’t have to.”  She takes a step back and for a split second, Trini hopes she’s going to leave, prove her right.  She doesn’t, of course, because she’s _Kimberly_ and she’s too wonderful for words, even with all her flaws and fuckups.  Her hand is a hair away from touching the small of Trini’s back when she adds, “I want to.  You’re my fellow ranger and my best friend and I—,” she stumbles on her words for a beat, before picking back up.  “And I care about you.  Let me help.” 

 _And I feel sorry for you_ , Trini supplies.  _And I can’t stand looking at you like this, like a kicked dog.  And I’m obligated to stop the bleeding, as per Zordon and the goddamn Ranger Code_. 

Kimberly guides her down the hall, around the corner towards the unused bathrooms near the chem labs, shoulders the door open and gestures for Trini to walk through. 

“Hop up,” Kimberly taps the counter space between sinks with a small, gentle smile before she turns away to grab a few paper towels and wet them. 

Trini tries to fight it, feels disgust roiling in her gut when she can’t, when her gaze inevitably strays to Kimberly’s back and she’s out and out staring at the way her muscles shift under her smooth skin, superhuman strength hidden just below the surface.  Her mind wanders briefly, wonders how else that raw power could be put to use and then she’s flushing, furious with herself.  She tears her eyes away from Kimberly, stares down at her hands instead, watching at how her skin pales when she presses hard enough, watching how the blood rushes to the surface when she lets up. 

“You’re not going to like me very much in a minute,” Kimberly says, breaking the silence.  

Trini looks up, catches sight of the soft look in the other girl’s eyes and then her mouth is running off without her again, scoffing, “Doubtful,” before she can consider the implications of the confession. 

Kimberly’s smile is blinding and entirely worth the minor moment of panic.  “Is that a compliment?” she grins, and this is easy enough, familiar in this weird, warm way.  They go back and forth like this a lot, in training, detention, at lunch and during study sessions, sprawled on Kimberly’s bedroom floor—Trini’s a mess around her ninety percent of the time, Kimberly takes it in stride, makes it light enough that Trini’s never left feeling uncomfortable. 

It’s easy to see how Trini fell so hard. 

“Take it how you want it,” Trini offers instead of a real answer, instead of the words that are pounding at the base of her skull, begging to see the light of day— 

_yes, Kimberly, it’s a compliment; they all are, everything I say to you is a compliment and I mean them all because you’re kind and so protective of us all, because you laugh at Zack’s shitty jokes and you help Jason with scheduling and hold my hand during thunderstorms and read up on hydroponics because it’s Billy’s new special interest and you’re so careful with us, with me and I l—_

Fuck that. Trini lets her eyes close instead, tips her head back a little to face Kimberly better, to make her job of cleaning Trini up a little easier.

When what feels like hours pass with no contact, she opens her eyes.  

Kimberly’s eyes are a little unfocused, trailing down the line of Trini’s jaw, to her neck, and her mouth is open just a bit, like she tried to take a deep breath but got distracted along the way.  It’s a look of open awe and it has Trini on edge, uncomfortable with the attention being given to her—there’s no way that—that— 

She nudges Kimberly’s shin with her toe before she can really consider what that look might mean, offers her a little smirk and a lift of her brow as she teases her, let’s _princesa_ roll off her tongue with little thought, but the gash on her head must have been right above her eyebrow because it pulls at the motion. 

“Sorry,” Kimberly says, frowning when she leans forward and cups Trini’s chin carefully, starts dabbing at the dried blood on her jaw.  She hesitates for a brief moment, her movements stuttering before she mutters, “Just wondering how someone so small could bleed so much.” 

Kimberly’s voice is flat, but she’s obviously trying to lighten the mood.  For what it’s worth, Trini appreciates the effort, even if she only has enough energy to let her eyes drop closed again.  

She’s not sure how much time passes after that—probably no more than a few minutes, knowing Kimberly’s brutal efficiency when it comes to first aid; Trini’s been her patient several times since becoming a ranger, always seeming to come away with more cuts and scrapes than the boys after training.  She hasn’t ever gotten used to it—to having Kimberly’s attention so wholly focused on her or to the way the other girl bites her lip when she’s concentrating or even to the way her own heartbeat always picks up when Kimberly’s this close, in her space.

Trini keeps her eyes firmly shut; her pulse is still up from everything else.  She thinks that if she were to look at Kimberly now, she’d probably drop dead from a heart attack or some other cardiac shit. 

But then her head is throbbing again and Kimberly’s hissing her name; slowly, groggily, Trini opens her eyes, blinking in the fluorescent lights.  

Kimberly makes a choked noise, busies her hands with trashing the paper towel she’d been using, turned rust colored with Trini’s blood, and getting a new one.  Her shoulders are tense, her face stony.  Trini’s first instinct is to square up for a fight, but she’s tired, so she only sags back against the wall when Kimberly asks again, “Who did this?” 

“Kim—,” she starts, because this is her thing, her problem, but— 

“Because I just need to have a chat with them, you know?” 

If she were less exhausted, she’d glare.  Instead, she just grumbles half-heartedly, “I can take care of myself,” and normally there’d be some edge to her sentence, but she just wants to stop talking, just wants Kimberly’s careful hands back on her skin, fixing her up, and then she wants a nap, maybe. 

“Yeah, you can, but you don’t.”  

Scratch that—Trini definitely wants a nap.

Kimberly’s statement earns a real glare then, because it stings and it’s not true—Trini eats healthy and does yoga, meditates, naps to make up the deficiency in her regular sleep cycle.  She takes care of herself in the ways that matter, even if Kimberly doesn’t think so. 

But she’s full of shit.  The worst part is she does know it; there’s this tiny, rational part of her that spends most of its time laughing at how pathetic she is, taking shit from cheerleaders that she could knock on their asses in thirty seconds flat, or making stupid mistakes at training because she’s angry at herself for letting Zack take a blow to the back when she was supposed to be covering him. 

Trini wants to disprove Kimberly, but she can’t and that’s a fucking awful realization. 

Kimberly’s wide eyed, concern tinged with a little abject horror, and she murmurs out an apology, says, “That wasn’t fair of me,” as Trini fully processes her revelation, turns her gaze down to her own hands.  She hears her suck in a breath, feels this fuzzy spike of concern in the back of her mind, knows that the other girl must be feeling _something_ , must know a little of the weird whirlpool of self-hatred that Trini’s wading through. 

Her hand is warm when she reaches out, cups Trini’s chin and lifts her face, catches her eye.  “Hey,” she whispers.  “What I said was uncalled for.”  

And she sounds so worried, so _pained_ , and it hurts Trini to know that she’s the cause of that, that her bullshit is the reason for anyone, least of all Kimberly, to feel like this, like shit—she’s willing to say just about anything, even the truth, to get it to stop.  She says, “It’s not,” without a second thought, says, “You’re right,” soon after, stumbling over the words.

It’s the wrong thing to say, she thinks, if Kimberly’s narrowed eyes are anything to go by.  She presses her lips into a thin line, studies Trini for a long moment before sighing out through her nose.  “Maybe,” she murmurs, dropping Trini’s gaze.  “But you didn’t need to hear it right now.” 

Later—not a lot later, really, but still, later—Trini won’t be able to come up with an explanation for why those words hit her so hard.  Won’t be able to say whether it was the way Kimberly’s head lowered or if it was the timbre of her voice, pitched low and stripped raw, only worsening the ache that centered in the very middle of Trini’s chest. 

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until the first tears splatter on her jeans. 

Her chest heaves silently and she ducks her head at the same time that Kimberly looks up, catches the movement just out of the corner of her eye.  The tears are blurring her vision enough she’s spared the sight of the other girl’s face when she sees her, the salt burning her lip and the scrape along her chin when a few drops trip over the wounds.

“I—,” she sobs, desperate to explain the momentary show of weakness, desperate to explain everything, to take the guilt held in the line of Kimberly’s shoulders away.  “I didn’t want anyone to see,” she manages around a shuddering breath, so close to the truth that it comes tumbling out anyway.  “I don’t want it getting back to my parents.”  _I can’t survive that_ , she manages to keep in.  _I wouldn’t want to._

Kimberly’s stepping closer hesitantly, unsure, and normally Trini’s so aware of her, so attuned to her that she can tell when it’s her outside Trini’s window without even looking, but—but her body is folding in on itself, shaking, and it’s all Trini can do to stay seated on the counter, to not slide down and run for it.  To not jump away when Kimberly’s hands slide into view, reaching out for her. 

“Can I—?” Kimberly stumbles over her words, stumbles closer, her thigh knocking against Trini’s knee.  “Is it okay if I hug you?” 

She looks pale and drawn under the harsh lights of the bathroom, and they’re what Trini blames for that, full stop; she can’t let herself start thinking that maybe it’s not the lights that are making Kimberly look so tired, so worried.  That maybe it has nothing to do with their environment at all.  That maybe— 

No.  Fuck it, that’s enough thinking.  Trini’s cold and exhausted and there’s warmth radiating off Kimberly’s skin, heating Trini’s knee through the fabric of their jeans, filling the space between them, and she’s tired of fighting the urge to be near her.  She’s so tired. 

Kimberly catches her when she pitches forward, shifts closer to accommodate when Trini slips her arms around the other girl’s waist, moves to step between her legs and draw her in, arms over Trini’s shoulders.  She’s so good—soft and warm and pliant, but solid at the same time, humming and rocking a little while Trini sobs against her, shuddering. 

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs against Trini’s temple, over and over again.  “I’ve got you.  I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” 

 _Shit_ , Trini thinks distantly.  She’s actually sobbing something out, asking for Kimberly, for her to stay, begging somewhere in between heaves of her shoulders and full body shudders, her voice raw and cracking and echoing off the tiles of the bathroom. 

“I’ve got you,” Kimberly says again, running slim fingers through Trini’s hair, one hand running up and down her back in slow, rhythmic circuits; her voice is still low, soothing, curling around all the bruised parts of Trini and serving as a buffer, a softness.  

Trini’s throat is raw by the end of it, iron on her tongue.  She lets out one shaky, shuddering breath—then another.  

Then Kimberly’s drawing back an inch, maybe, just enough to shift one hand to cup Trini’s cheek.  “You deserve so much better than this,” she whispers earnestly and it nearly causes another round of sobs, sits so heavily on Trini’s chest that it nearly draws out a refusal— _please, god, take it back_.  

Kimberly must be able to tell, because then she’s drawing her back in, because then she’s saying quietly, fiercely, “You are a kind, loyal, _loving_ person, and you shouldn’t ever be made to feel ashamed over who you love.” 

Trini laughs, because her other option is to start crying again.  She laughs, her lips brushing the warm skin of Kimberly’s neck, and she blushes when she realizes, burns red and hot and tries to move away as she mumbles, “Sorry I cried on you.” 

She doesn’t get far, because Kimberly keeps her arms around her, her eyes on Trini.  Hits her with this awful and warm and painstakingly careful look, hits her right where she’s weakest.  “Trini,” Kimberly says, her name slipping off her lips so wonderfully that Trini can hardly look at her. 

She looks down instead.  Narrows her eyes.  “Your shirt’s kind of gross now,” she observes thickly.  “I got snot all over it.” 

“Yeah.  But it’s worth it.” 

When she manages to look up again, Kimberly’s staring at her openly, her brows drawn together, worried.  She wants to destroy that expression, remove it from Kimberly’s repertoire altogether.  “Kimberly—,” she starts, cut off nearly immediately. 

“It’s worth it,” the other girl says forcefully. 

They look at each other for a minute, a long one—Trini’s _this_ close to saying something stupid, to ruining this all, and she thinks Kimberly can tell?  Can sense how her words are choking her, pricking at her eyes again.  Her expression softens, gentle concern overtaking the ferociousness that was there a second ago.  “This one’s going to need a stitch, I think,” she tells Trini, gentle as she brushes the pad of her thumb just under the gash on Trini’s head.  “I can probably manage it back at the ship.” 

It’s sweet of her to offer, even if Trini can already feel her body knitting itself back together.  “At this rate, I should change your name in my phone,” she quips anyway.  “From Fighter Pilot Barbie to Paramedic Barbie.” 

Kimberly rolls her eyes, groans, “Jesus, why am I still Fighter Pilot Barbie?” 

“Because you didn’t like my other nicknames for you,” she offers in response, smiling and preening a little when Kimberly’s face brightens. 

They fall into silence again for a moment, but it’s lighter, different than the pauses that have preceded it, calm as Kimberly continues cleaning up her face, her touch light and gentle.  Trini’s happy to pretend like this is the only place that exists for now, happy to exist only here, in this bathroom, pressed close to Kimberly Hart.

All wonderful moments come to a close—this one does as well, with Kimberly stepping back a beat after she’s finished, tucked Trini’s hair back behind her ears.  “Well, you still look like Rocky from the final act of Rocky—.” 

“I should be so lucky,” Trini says flatly, warming as Kimberly lets out a little surprised laugh. 

“— _but_ you’re as patched up as I can get you at school,” she finishes her thought, one hand drawing back to rest on Trini’s knee, palm warm, and the other reaching for Trini’s hand and folding over it.  “Do you want water?  I think there’s a vending machine around the corner.”

“Water’d be good.”  Trini’s voice cracks, her throat dry suddenly.  She feels ridiculous, wets her lips to try and bring herself back. 

“I’ll be right back,” Kimberly says, starting to move back, slip her hand out of Trini’s and—in, like, forty seconds, Trini will be embarrassed about how fast she tightens her grip on Kimberly’s hand.  But it’s not forty seconds from now and Trini is _scared_ , afraid that if she’s left alone, what little peace she’s found in this stupid school bathroom will disappear, evaporate.  Destroy her.  

The other girl ducks her head when Trini does, slips one hand along her chin to raise her eyes.  “Lock the door behind me,” she instructs.  “No one uses this bathroom, but I’ll knock when I come back, okay?” 

Okay.  She can manage that.  Forty seconds have passed and her embarrassment is heating up her face; Trini nods, drops Kimberly’s hand.  Doesn’t flinch when Kimberly leans in. 

For one brief, terrifying second, Trini thinks that Kimberly’s going to kiss her.  Her eyes are on Trini’s lips and for an even briefer, more terrifying moment, Trini’s not scared about what that means, long term.  For the record—she spends most of her time scared of what things mean, long term.  Especially things that have to do with Kimberly Ann Hart.  Especially things that have to do with Kimberly Ann Hart and literally anything involving hands or lips or close proximity and, uh— _shit_.  This is ticking, like, most of those boxes.

There’s gentle pressure on Trini’s forehead and it takes her half a second to catch up, to finish the equation.  When she finally breaks through the haze that is Kimberly’s perfume, wrapping around her, Kimberly’s already pulling back.  She tucks some of Trini’s hair back behind her ear, let’s her hand drift down to cup Trini’s cheek.  “Okay,” she breathes.  “I’ll be right back.” 

And then she’s gone, disappearing out the door and down the hall. 

For a minute, Trini truly doesn’t know what to make of her day so far.  She sits on the counter and breathes, because it’s all she can manage right now—that’s okay, right?  Breathing is good.  A solid plan. 

Except—Trini’s face is warm, half the aftershock of Kimberly’s forehead kiss, half the embarrassment of _anyone_ finding out about all this rising to the surface.  Her instinct is to just bail, slip out of the bathroom and let Kimberly come back to an empty room, a water bottle for nobody.  She could probably survive out in the woods for a while—that’s always been her backup plan, should things at home ever go too horribly sideways, should her mom ever bring up those therapists again, should she ever just need _out_. 

She kind of feels like she needs _out_ right now. 

But— uh.  There’s another part, a louder part, that knows with absolute certainty that she can’t leave them—her friends, her little family.  They’d all die for each other, but Trini knows that she’ll stay for them too.  She probably owes them all an explanation for her shitty avoidant tendencies. 

She doesn’t really know how to do this—never bothered to learn or never had the chance to; either way, she’s bad at making friends and even worse at keeping them.  And these—these four kids, so wonderful and caring and so goddamn important to her, were sort of just dropped in front of her, like the universe got sick of her lone wolf act and decided to do something about it.  Like— _hey dumbass, try to keep these ones around_.  

Trini should try, at least.  Try to keep them, try to let them in.  Accept the little things they offer her—Jason remembering her favorite milkshake flavor, without being reminded; Billy asking for her help when he’s tinkering, even if it’s just an extra pair of hands to hand him the right wrench; Zack teaching her a little Mandarin, a little chess, just enough to keep up with his mom; Kimberly asking to join her up on the mountain at sunrise, to see the town the way Trini likes it best. 

For a second, her heart is so full that Trini thinks she’s about to cry again.

One beat passes.  Another.  The fear creeps back in soon enough, because that’s how this works—she’s happy for a hot second, then she remembers why that’s not good, why that can’t stick around.  She’s starting to think that leaving is a good idea again, is starting to wonder what the process for resigning from being a power ranger, whether it’s a form or a debrief or something.  The rapid back and forth is starting to wear on her, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion. 

The worst part is that each time she comes to a decision, she’s so sure of it for half a second, so convinced that this is the best path, full stop, that she’ll fix everything that’s been wrong or gone wrong or will go wrong.  Right now— right now she’s sure that vaulting out the window, sprinting for the quarry, and hiding out in the woods just beyond it until people give up on her would fix just about everything. 

There’s a soft knock at the door, three in short succession— Trini’s mind jumps to late nights, a familiar silhouette at her window, that same pattern tapped out against the side of her house.  

Kimberly’s slipping her phone into her back pocket when Trini opens the door, and she looks up with a small smile.  “Hey,” she murmurs, slipping in when Trini steps back.  She cracks the bottle, hands it over to Trini as she tells her, “Jason’s going to take you to the mine.”  

 _Because you want to literally fight someone,_ Trini fills in for her.  For a brief moment, she wonders what Kimberly would actually do if she knew it was Amanda, Harper, all the girls she used to run with.  For an even briefer, traitorous moment, she wonders if Kimberly would have been a part of that, if things were different. 

Kimberly’s saying, “I’ve got a couple things I need to handle before I can leave, but I’ll be there soon,” when Trini shakes the thought away. 

She narrows her eyes, studies Kimberly and asks, “What things do you need to _handle_?”  

It’s a testament to how well they know each other that Trini knows Kimberly’s lying when she says, “I’m supposed to meet with my history teacher after school today.  I just need to check in with her and let her know I can’t make it.” 

Her tell—a little quirk of her lips, a hint of a smile as if to say _trust me, honest_ —it slips as soon as she’s finished her sentence, the truest sign that Trini’s first instinct was right.  But there’s no convincing her otherwise, Trini knows that just as well, knows what Kimberly’s like when she’s worried about one of her teammates.  And Trini’s done all she can to avoid a major incident, done what she could to minimize the damage and, god help her, protect Amanda because she’s got this feeling that there won’t be much left of the girl if Kimberly finds out about what she did to Trini.  

But Trini’s done her part, and she’s not Kimberly’s keeper.  And she’s tired, a bone deep exhaustion that leaves no room for anything else, not even that deeply rooted instinct of hers to step between Kimberly and everything that she self-sabotages with. 

Trini nods, ignores Kimberly’s tell.  Lets her guide her out into the hall, away from her locker, towards the elevator.  They ride down in silence and Trini tries to focus on the buzz of the fluorescent lights above them, the hum of the elevator—anything but the way Kimberly’s hand feels in Trini’s, anything but the way the other girl is holding her loose enough that Trini could shake her off if she wanted to.  Anything but the fact that Trini doesn’t want to. 

Jason waves when he spots them; he’s idling at the curb, waiting like Kimberly had said, and he’s got this infuriating look of gentle concern when he looks at Trini.  It shifts soon enough, shifts to something like suspicion when he looks at Kimberly. 

“Zack’s going to meet us at the mine,” he says as he leans over to push open the passenger door.  “I’m picking up Billy from the field.  When do you think you’ll be done here?” he asks Kimberly, his eyebrows drawing together in that way that Trini thinks screams _Team Leader_.  

“Before school lets out,” Kimberly says smoothly, squeezing Trini’s hand quickly as Trini gets into the truck.  “Probably in twenty?” 

Trini can’t look at her out here—in the bathroom it felt safer, felt easier to lean into Kimberly’s warmth and care.  Out here, in the glaring light of day, Trini feels overexposed, raw.  Too much like the girl that tried to run away from destiny or whatever.  She trains her eyes ahead, at the pavement, until they’re moving, until suddenly Kimberly’s going to not be there with her and that distance suddenly seems too large, unconquerable.  

She feels a little ridiculous when she looks up, a little needy when she looks for something in Kimberly’s eyes—comfort, maybe.  Assurance.  She finds both, finds more in the brief moment they lock eyes, in the split second before Kim drops her hand and steps back onto the curb and Jason pulls away.  Trini doesn’t know what to make of it, so she ignores it, promises herself that she’ll riddle it out later.

 

 **/**  

 

She doesn’t.  Riddle it out, that is.  Doesn’t think about it, or tries really hard not to.  Whatever.  She doesn’t need to, not just yet, not when she’s tucked in the back of the Jason’s truck, Zack’s arm thrown around her shoulders and Billy turned back in the passenger seat, filling the silence of the cab with what he’s been looking into with Alpha-5 about ranger history.  

No one’s asked about what happened; there was one moment when she thought Zack for sure was about to push her on it, about to ask for some answer that she wouldn’t be able to provide without breaking through about six emotional barriers and crying a lot, but then he’d just given her this long, steady look and—well.  Then he tucked her under his arm and started talking with Billy. 

Jason keeps shooting concerned looks at her in the rearview mirror, keeps catching her eyes and offering her this look that sort of says _you good?_ and also _I know you’re not_.  Trini’s not sure what to do with that, not sure how to respond to that sort of silent call out, so she looks away. 

After they park at the quarry, Zack and Billy pile out, Trini close behind them, but then— “Hey, T, can we talk for a second?” 

Jason’s got his hands in his pocket, got his _Red Ranger/Team Dad_ look on and Trini appreciates it, she does, but she doesn’t want to talk about this.  Not yet.  Not today.

“Jace, I’m—I don’t—,” she starts, choking on the words and hating herself for it. 

“Hey,” he raises his hands.  “I know.  I just wanted to make sure you know that—uh.  That you’re safe with us, you know?  We’ve got your back.  You can tell us what happened, if you want to.  Who did this.” 

“Yeah,” Trini nods, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket.  “I know.”

He looks like he’s going to say something else, something deeper, something that’ll break Trini right in half.  But then he pauses, stares at her for a beat before he asks, “We good?” 

Like that’s a question.  Trini nods, steps closer and lets him sling his arm over her shoulders as they turn towards the cliff. 

 

**/**

 

Billy’s the only one that doesn’t seem surprised when Trini throws herself onto the couch and mumbles, “Dogpile.” 

She catches Zack’s disbelieving look, Jason’s furrowed brow—she’s never the one that calls for dogpiles, alternately known as Ranger Cuddles (Zack shouldn’t be allowed to name anything ever, by the way).  But she’s tired and she wants to not feel so cold right now and Kimberly isn’t here, but Kimberly isn’t everything and Trini likes how safe it feels squished between her boys.  She wants to feel that safe now. 

So, she repeats, “Dogpile,” a little louder this time, a little more insistent.

Billy drops onto the other end of the couch, rests his hand on Trini’s ankle.  She wiggles her foot in appreciation, pats the cushion that she’s currently resting her head on and frowns at Jason first, moving to Zack when Jason starts to move towards the couch. 

Between the three of them, she’s pretty effectively cocooned.  Zack manhandled her a little, picked her up off the couch so that he and Jason could grab seats and Jason wrapped his arms around her, just tight enough, just enough pressure—the way that she admitted to liking one night at the bonfire, after just enough alcohol to get her to loosen up.  It’s nice, warm.  Safe. 

She drifts off pretty quickly, rousing a little when Kimberly joins them.  She picks out the slightly higher register of her voice, catches snippets of conversation; she’s in and out of her nap, hazy enough that what little she picks up doesn’t come together to actually make any sense in her head.

And then there’s movement, her body being lifted, weight being redistributed.  Someone else is holding her now, someone softer than Jason, someone that smells good and feels safe and Trini curls up tighter, curls into Kimberly’s body.  It’s good.  This is good.

 

**/**

 

Trini doesn’t mean to start crying at dinner—it’s just that, after Alpha-5 and Zordon kicked them all out to go home for the night, Trini is still riding the high that came from being around her friends.  She comes crashing down from that high the second she walks in the door, because then her mother is right there, frowning and asking where she’d been, why she hadn’t called— “You can be so irresponsible sometimes,” she huffs, before storming back to the kitchen and leaving Trini reeling. 

Five minutes in the door and that was what she got. 

It builds from there.  Her dad asking her about her day, her mom pressing her when she gave her standard answer— “Same old, same old.” 

“Trini, _something_ new has to have happened.” 

Trini’s mind flashes to Amanda, shoving her into the lockers.  To the look on Kimberly’s face when she saw, to the much softer look she gave Trini in the bathroom, just the two of them.  To how close they were, to the pressure of the other girl’s lips on her forehead.  To her boys and how careful they were with her, just the right amount of worry.  To how much better they all were in the aftermath, to how she thinks it would go down if she were to tell her family it all. 

“Nope,” she drawls instead, emotionless. 

“God _dammit_ ,” her mother shouts, slamming her hand down on the table, making the silverware and the twins jump.  “You—you run off to god knows where at all hours, you lie about your friends and you expect us to trust you?  Even when you do _this_?”  She’s standing by now, gesturing wildly at what seemed to be all of Trini.  Even Trini’s father seems a little shocked at the outburst. 

“June,” he tries, sounding so tired, so half-hearted.

That’s what breaks her. 

Trini drops her fork, stands.  Blinks fast in the suddenly too bright lights of their dining room.  Starts to leave before the tears that are burning her fall. 

“ _Trinity_ ,” her mother shrieks.  “I am talking to you!” 

That’s all that Trini hears before the rest turns into static, lessening only once she’s halfway up the stairs.

It’s not hard for her to start sobbing in earnest once her door is closed, locked.  Everything hits her, all at once, all the shit from today slamming into her full force now that she’s alone, now that her boys aren’t here to be her buffer and Kimberly’s not here to care for her. 

She nearly calls them, finds herself reaching for her phone.  But the problem is that they would answer, that they would care and—jesus, it’s illogical, but she doesn’t want anyone to care about her right now, not when she’s like this, not when it feels like she’s used up all the gentleness that was allotted to her for today.  Not when it would be so glaringly different from her family. 

No calling them, then.  Trini strips, throws on the first pajamas she spots and crawls into her bed, silences her phone.  Her body shakes from the force of her sobs and she blindly wipes at her cheeks, tries to get her messy hat hair out of her eyes, off her face. 

Her chest aches under the weight of this.  But honestly?  She doesn’t remember a time when it didn’t.

 

 **//**  

 

When her alarm goes off to get up for detention, Trini’s gotten a net forty-five minutes of sleep, _maybe_.  She spends a little longer in the shower than she normally would, dozing off when she leans her forehead against the slick tile, but by the time she gets back to her room she feels moderately more human. 

Which is helpful, considering about twenty seconds after she’s buttoned up her shirt, Kimberly’s pulling herself through Trini’s window. 

“Hey,” she greets, the weak sunlight behind her, making the stained glass of Trini’s window a halo for her.  “I have a proposition for you.” 

Trini’s only a little embarrassed by the snort that escapes her, which—progress, you know?  “Kimberly Hart,” she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in faux outrage.  “Are you _literally_ propositioning me? 

Kimberly rights herself, rolls her eyes and says with a little shrug of her shoulders, “I am, I guess.”  She pauses, looks like she’s searching for the right words and her hesitation slays Trini, makes her reevaluate just about everything she thought she knew about the other girl.  And then— “I think you should move into my locker.” 

Trini freezes, stares at Kimberly, tries not to show how it feels like her brain is on fire.  She manages, “Little early for that, hm?”  Cringes at how her voice breaks midsentence, tries to ignore how her cheeks feel hot. 

Kimberly, bless her, ignores it too.  “Maybe,” she says, nodding.  “But how many times have you had days like yesterday?” 

And that’s—it’s like Trini’s been doused in cold water.  She drops her eyes back to her bag, back to her shaking hands as she pulls together what she’ll need for detention and for training later.  The dull ache at the base of her skull is back, another reminder she can’t ignore and— 

“Trini,” Kimberly presses, suddenly closer. 

Fuck, she’s going to cry again.  She’s going to break down in front of Kimberly for the second time in as many days and all she can say is, “Doesn’t matter.”  She goes to reach around Kimberly for her beanie, mumbles, “It’s not your problem.” 

And then she’s face to face with Kimberly, barely a foot between them and Kimberly’s just as warm as she was yesterday, just as intoxicating to be near and Trini can’t handle it, can’t be around her like this.  Not when she’s this raw, this stripped down—just them, just this awful tension. 

When she looks up, Kimberly’s watching her, brows drawn together, full lips pressed together and it feels like she’s seeing straight through Trini.  “Just drop it, okay?” Trini pleads, hating how small she sounds.  She crosses her arms over her chest, feels overexposed, too open.  She wants to go back twenty-four hours, wants to skip school and never let any of this happen. 

Kimberly’s still looking at her like she’s something fragile, something precious and it’s cracking Trini right in half.  She reaches back slowly, like she’s afraid she’s going to scare Trini, and she grabs her beanie, offers it like an olive branch before she sits on the corner of Trini’s bed.  

“Hey,” she says softly.  “I’m sorry I upset you.  I didn’t—I should have phrased that better.” 

Trini yanks her hat on, snaps, “You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.”  Her anger isn’t at Kimberly, she knows that.  But it’s so much safer than—than whatever _this_ is between them.  “I’m not going to break.” 

And Kimberly’s got this look on her face, like she’s finally figured it out, like she’s got an idea of what’s happening—Trini’s seen that look at training, when the other girl finally masters a new move or cracks whatever cryptic riddle Zordon launches at them.  Trini leans into her anger, lets herself hate the expression a little because if she doesn’t hate it, she—fuck.  Whatever. 

“I know,” Kim says before pausing.  “But I also know that you shouldn’t have to deal with this at all, Trini,” she continues, Trini’s name a sigh.  “And you really shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.”  She sucks in a breath, cocks her head to one side.  “I just want to be here for you,” she says quietly. 

That knocks her a little off balance.  Puts all the thoughts she’s whipped up to rest, brings everything to a screeching halt because Kimberly’s got this soft, soft look on her face and it’s directed and Trini and— _god_.  Trini hates this, hates how soft Kimberly is with her.  All it does is stoke the fire a little more, sink her a little deeper and this would have been so much easier if Kimberly was just a bitch cheerleader, if she was just as mean as Trini had assumed she was from the moment she saw her. 

But she’s not and Trini’s seen the fallout of that firsthand.  “You’re really willing to risk shit like this happening at your locker again?” she asks, keeping her voice flat, neutral. 

Kimberly nods, her hair bouncing and catching the light.  “Of course,” she hums.  “I thought I made it pretty clear that you’re than worth it.” 

From the way Kimberly’s eyes widen just the slightest, Trini’s willing to bet that she didn’t mean to say that and that makes it hit all the harder, makes it feel like a sucker punch of, like, emotion.  Trini clenches her jaw, swallows hard, fighting tears—jesus, it’s barely eight and she’s been on the verge of tears for what feels like hours. 

Something warmer takes over, though—something warmer and brighter and stronger than the ache in Trini’s chest and it has her smiling a little despite everything that’s weighing on her. 

“Sap,” she accuses.  “But yeah, whatever,” she concedes.  “If you’re so desperate to deal with me twenty-four seven, I’ll move into your locker.” 

She goes to push past Kimberly, goes for the window and for an end to what has been her most narrow miss with out and out emotion so far today, but then Kimberly’s grabbing her wrist and reeling her back, wrapping her arms around Trini. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, not sounding very sorry at all.

There’s a small part of Trini that wants to pretend like Kimberly’s hugs aren’t one of her favorite things in the world, that wants to act like she wouldn’t be happy to just stay here, in her arms, for a few years.  It’s drowned out by the part of her that loves this, that feels like some errant piece of her is snapping back into place.

Trini wraps her arms around Kimberly’s waist, leans more of her weight against her.  “If you ever tell anyone about this, I’m going to throw you into a wall or something,” she grumbles to cover for the way she’s melting. 

“No, you won’t,” Kimberly says smugly. 

“No, I won’t.”  She pauses, scrambles for something else to fill the silence.  “But seriously,” she says after a beat.  “Zack’s gonna give me shit if he knows I went down without a fight.” 

“You know he won’t,” Kimberly soothes.  “Not about this anyway.” 

She’s right, of course.  Zack’s an asshole, but he’s an asshole who loves Trini, who always senses the line not to cross long before Trini ever has to say anything.  He’ll never bring it up. 

“You’re sparring with him today if he does, though,” Trini huffs, covering for the slow way she pulls back. 

Kimberly’s smiling and the glint in her eyes is telling Trini _run_.  “I thought we could spar together,” she says quietly, hopefully. 

Trini flushes, goes hot all over.  “You—uh,” she stammers.  “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to get hurt and you know you’ll pull your punches.”

“Not at all,” Kimberly grins.  “I’m gonna kick your ass, like always.” 

She hates that that’s kind of hot.  Hates that Kimberly’s cockiness kind of does it for her.  Jesus, it’s been a weird morning.  

“You’re so full of shit,” she lobs back.  “And we’re going to be late if you keep making me all sappy and whatever.” 

“When have you ever been on time to detention?” 

And here it is, the one opportunity Trini has to feel a little in control.  “Well, princesa,” she says, preening at how Kimberly shivers a little at the term.  “I’m there temporarily, so my tardiness doesn’t really matter, but I’m guessing you’re also here to insist on driving me?”  Kimberly flushes, pouts a little at being called out.  “And your tardiness _does_ matter,” she says with a little smile.  “Therefore, we’re going to be on time today.”

“You’re so bossy,” Kimberly whines, making a face.  She laughs a little when Trini surges forward, pushes her towards the window. 

“Ridícula,” Trini mutters, watching as Kimberly launches herself out the window.  

She’s about to follow her when Kimberly’s grinning face pops back into view.  “I think I like it,” she adds with a wink.  She drops her hold on Trini’s windowsill and lands gracefully on the lawn, laughing when Trini’s only response is a high, inhuman noise. 

Kimberly Hart is going to be the death of her, Trini thinks, covering her face.  The worst part is that she honestly doesn’t mind.

 

 

 


End file.
